Dancing Soothes the Heart
by Teh Little One
Summary: After Sardines and the books, memories and rain...comes the dancing, the swaying, the ever growing feelings and tensions. Sequel to 'Books,memories and rain'. Read and Review. S'il vous plait!


**Disclaimer: **Yeh. Not mine. SO?

**Summary:** After Sardines, after the book, memories and rain...comes the dance and the ever pressing feelings and tension. Scene: Netherfield Ball

**A/N: **I cannot begin to tell you how happy teh review made me. I wrote this because of the reviews and because I did not want to sleep last night. So here's the next instalment. I have no idea if i'll continue this, all depends on the reviews. Hopefully you won't be disappointed. Ta. Oh yeah, sorry I took so long.

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**° Dancing Soothes the Heart °**

It was a noisy morning in Netherfield Park, throughout the earliness of the day servants where hustling through the house with tables, chandeliers, wine bottles and sets of dishes. Bingley stood in the middle of the main hall next to his sister who was helping him in the necessary arrangements, every once in a while a servant would come up to them and ask Bingley about some specific detail and he would gawk while his sister answered with a somewhat annoyed look.

"I will not even begin to fathom how you will ever manage to organize a ball on your own, Charles," she said sternly. Bingley only let out a small embarrassed laugh, he continued to look around the house and then he heard Darcy's voice:

"I see you have all the arrangements set Bingley,"

"Why, yes Darcy! Though we must indeed credit my sister who has had the patience of aiding me in this matter which simply is beyond my understanding," Bingley replied with a wide smile. Darcy stopped and stood right next to him right after he bowed courteously at Miss Bingley, she attempted her eyelash flutter at him but, as usual, it was ignored.

"Would you not agree Mr. Darcy that these decorations are simply outstanding?" Caroline inquired proudly.

Darcy only nodded his head at her and then continued to talk to Bingley who was particularly eager at the thought of Miss Bennet being present in his house that evening. Darcy could almost feel his friend's enthusiasm as it seemed to be pouring from him, he on the other hand had to strain himself to keep his thoughts from straying to Miss Elizabeth whom he had not met since morning he had seen her walking with Wickham. Oh, how it hurt him to remember that day, he could not stop jealousy from coursing through his entire body, and anger at seeing the scoundrel again.

"Darcy, is everything all right?" Bingley asked slightly concerned.

"Excuse me, Bingley," Darcy said with a small nod, "it appears I drifted off, if you will excuse me, I will be in the library,"

"Oh, surely Darcy," Bingley said with a slightly surprised look at his friend. Darcy merely bowed his head slightly and took his leave towards his haven. As he entered the slightly cold room, he leaned back against the closed door and released a long sigh. He closed his eyes in tried to calm his thumping heart and to organize his overflowing thoughts. He could not fathom how he was supposed to act this evening, it seemed surprising to him how vastly his life had been affected by the glowing eyes and scent of a woman.

He pushed himself away from the door and towards one of the large clear windows which showed him the gardens of the mansion. His gaze traveled slowly through the fields and finally it rested on a large tree, located not far from the Garden entrance. He remembered the rain and a book. He shook his head, trying to rid himself from his memories but his heart held onto them with a fiery grip.

He looked away from the window and lowered himself slowly onto a couch that was located near one of the bookshelves; he could still hear the bustling of the servants and even felt a slight tremor as Miss Bingley's voice echoed through the hallways. Though it was true that Bingley had absolutely no talent when it came to organizing Darcy could only cringe at the sound of Miss Bingley's voice as it uttered command after command and he particularly disliked the manner in which she constantly looked around for him, and more specifically for his approval.

He had no idea how to regard this ball; he did not mind Bingley's giddiness, in truth the thought of it hardly occupied his mind...it vexed him how Elizabeth Bennett had become the one and only being that constantly occupied his thoughts. This ball, in which she would most certainly be present, did nothing but unease him and truth be told, since the moment he became aware of the fact that Wickham had made her acquaintance his stomach had taken refuge somewhere near the region of his feet.

Darcy could do nothing but recall the overwhelmingly intimate moments he had shared with Miss Elizabeth in this very house, his hand shook slightly at the thought and every once in a while he caught himself with his hand raised and barely brushing his lips. Oh, but her taste still remained. He had locked her gaze and her taste in his heart; he brought the memory back usually at night as he lay up and stared at the canopy of his bed, as he whispered her name into the darkness.

But Wickham had brought doubts and anger to his heart as well, seeing him beside Miss Elizabeth felt as if something was gripping at his heart and trying to pull it from his chest. Bingley had asked him whether he would rather not have Wickham at all at the ball; Darcy simply shook his head and did his best to ensure his friend that everything would be alright even if he did not believe it himself. Darcy had no idea what he would do if he saw the man; he had no idea what he would do if he saw him with Miss Elizabeth again.

His fist fell soundly onto the table which sat passively beside him; the sound reverberated through the room and against the walls. He closed his eyes momentarily and then stole a glance at the large tree which was still visible through the window...he could almost see her figure standing below it.

"Enough," he whispered in a rough, though low voice, "That is enough,"

He stood hastily and stormed out of the room as if he were attempting to escape his very thoughts.

--

Elizabeth found herself in the midst of absolute chaos; it became evident at this point that the people who inhabited her home had gone mad, or rather that is to say, madder. Since very early in the morning as she attempted to rub the sleep off of her eyes, she could hear the loud screeching which was most certainly produced by Kitty and Lydia. She wondered for a brief moment what could be reason for such an uproar and as the drowsiness faded she remembered that the awaited Netherfield ball would be taking place that very afternoon.

She sighed to the empty room as the thought of her entire family being present at Netherfield crossed her mind. She shook her head and almost shivered but in a flash another thought crossed her mind: Mr. Wickham would very likely be present that evening. She smiled to herself and stood up from the bed, the shrieking continued in the lower floor but her spirits were livelier at the thought of the blonde man.

Though at times it did not seem like it, the truth was that Elizabeth had been looking forward to the ball as well. The prospect of meeting Mr. Wickham there and even the possibility of sharing a dance made a small smile reach her visage. She enjoyed the man's company greatly, found him incredibly amiable and courteous, he demonstrated wit and at times his soft gaze convinced Elizabeth that she had indeed found that which she thought she would never encounter.

However, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, Elizabeth's mind kept drifting back to that morning in which she met the colourful soldier, not the exact moment at which they met but rather the moment when they encountered Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. As soon as the latter and Mr. Wickham established eye contact Elizabeth could feel the tension in Mr. Wickham's shoulders and as she turned to regard Mr. Darcy she almost shivered at the coldness with which he regarded the other man.

Elizabeth hated the man's eyes, she hated the way she could not erase them from her mind. She hated the way each time she saw them or thought about them, she was immediately brought back to those rainy afternoons in Netherfield Park. She felt herself shiver at the thought; to her those moments which had occurred between them seemed to be from an unreal world, something similar to a dream in the sense that she could not possibly envision Mr. Darcy being the man he had been at that time.

It was because of the way he had looked at her, the way he had whispered gentle words and the way he had touched her that she could not force his gaze out of her mind. She grabbed the cloth she was holding in her hand tighter and let out an exasperated sigh. She had absolutely no regard for Mr. Darcy; she held firmly the opinion she had had of him from the moment they met, and though this very opinion might have shifted slightly during her stay at Netherfield, after meeting Mr. Wickham it had reclaimed its initial perspective.

"Lizzy!" came the muffled call through the door.

Elizabeth did not move, in truth she had not heard the beckon, her thoughts still remained on that morning, on Mr. Wickham's words regarding Mr. Darcy and on her surprise at hearing such accusations against a man who had gazed at her in the overwhelmingly longing manner in which had done during their encounters. After hearing Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth had sworn not to be fooled by a man's dazzling gaze much less for his soft spoken words.

"Lizzy! For heaven's sake what on earth are you doing?" exclaimed Mrs. Bennett as she opened the door, "We have been asking for you to come down and help your sisters with their dresses! It is of outmost importance we all look at our best this evening...you do remember the militia will also be attending?"

"Indeed?" Elizabeth exclaimed with a slight sarcastic undertone which went completely unnoticed by her mother.

"Dear Lord! Where is your head young girl?" was her mother's reply as she raised her arms above her head in a sign of resignation and walked out of the room, her voice however, came again, "Come along girl! Make haste!"

Elizabeth followed her mother downstairs and found her sisters constantly snapping at each other through tightening white corsets. As she entered the drawing room she looked around for Jane and found her sitting near one of the windows silently looking for an appropriate ribbon for her dress. Elizabeth smiled and thought that even though her mind had been constantly filled during the previous days she could not help but also feel a little giddy at the thought of her sister and Mr. Bingley.

Jane had not confided much to her about her regard towards the young man, however her gaze and her soft smile said enough. Elizabeth felt somewhat guilty at not having confided in Jane what had occurred during their stay at Netherfield, but Elizabeth saw no manner in which she could have related the events, in truth she hardly believed them herself.

Her sister looked up and walked towards her with two ribbons in hand, as she drew closer she presented Elizabeth with a slim white ribbon and smiled. Elizabeth smiled back and took it. After helping her sisters with their dresses Elizabeth went back to her room to find her own. She loved her dress, in truth it was one of her favourites and thus she only allowed herself to use it on very special occasions.

Jane came to help her fix her hair and carefully locate the ornaments which she had chosen to decorate it. Jane wanted to know the truth about the ordeal between Darcy and Wickham...Elizabeth wanted to leave it at what it was; she would rather not procure more thoughts regarding Mr. Darcy into her mind. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled at her sister.

--

As soon as Darcy had seen the orchestra make its way into the household he had fled the room. He stood in front of a full body mirror which was located in his room; his face was dripping small water droplets. A few seconds before he had splashed cool water from the basin which was positioned near the mirror, he had decided to ignore the cloth sitting beside the basin. He gazed at his dishevelled self, the missing cravat and the open at the neck white shirt he wore, the small droplets coursing through his throat and his quivering hands.

"Get a grip, man" he whispered angrily, "have a little self control,"

He sighed for the umpteenth time that day and proceeded to change into the attire he had selected for the evening's event. His breathing was somewhat laboured but he had managed to subside his tremulous hands. Never had he felt so unlike himself, somewhere between the day of the Meryton Assembly and this very day he had lost control of himself, Elizabeth Bennett had robbed it from him.

He could still hear Miss Bingley's voice as it thundered through the rooms, she ordered the servants about exasperatedly and chastised Bingley, probably each time he attempted to position a flower pot in a completely inappropriate place. Darcy regarded himself in the mirror one last time, before him stood a stranger; a man he no longer recognized. This man was to blame for what had occurred with Miss Elizabeth...he was to be blamed and to be thanked.

Darcy shook his head at that last thought, readjusted his cravat and left the room as he proceeded towards what would be a very long evening. As he reached the entrance hall he found Bingley already handsomely dressed and with a silly smile of his face, his sister was nowhere to be seen. As Darcy stood beside Bingley he noticed the constant shifting of the latter, the wriggling of his hands and his complete inability to remain in the same position for more than five seconds. Finally, after a long silence he managed to let out a few anxious words.

"I have no idea what I would have done if Caroline had not been here," he released a soft yet apprehensive laugh, "I do hope the decorations are to the liking of the guests," Darcy immediately knew that by 'guests' Bingley was actually referring to Miss Bennett.

"I am quite sure they will be," was all Darcy could say.

"Might it be too much, old chap, to ask you share a few dances with the ladies this evening?" Bingley asked uncertainly, "I would hate it for you to stand idle...this is a ball after all,"

"I would hate to ruin your ball by standing around idly, Bingley," Darcy replied with a somewhat annoyed look, he turned to his friend, "I shall oblige to your petition on the condition that you sit still for a brief moment, if you please!"

Bingley could only chuckle at his friend's exasperated remark and thus stopped twirling his hands and rather let them fall lightly to his sides. Darcy simply nodded his head and regarded the glowing room in more detail after a few seconds he simply let his gaze slide towards the room which would be destined for the dances.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy! I trust you shall find that Netherfield Park has never looked as handsome as it does on this night," Miss Bingley said as she approached both gentlemen and as her eyelashes fluttered unabashedly at Mr. Darcy. He simply gave a curt nod and continued to gaze and the candle lit entrance. Miss Bingley began to describe the process through which she had chosen the decorations for the evening but both her brother's and Darcy's thoughts rested elsewhere, Bingley's were probably focused on the oldest Miss Bennett which would account for his wistful air. Darcy on the other hand could only consider the possibility of Wickham making any sort of appearance at Netherfield during the evening.

After a few minutes of which Miss Bingley's voice registered as a mere buzz in Darcy's mind, he excused himself from their presence and went out to the terrace which faced the largest garden of the state. The moon shone brightly above, there were no candles in this terrace and thus it was merely showered in silver light. Darcy appreciated the soft breeze that caressed his worried features, the cool air helped soothe his mind, he felt it fill up his lungs as he breathed slowly.

He was brought back from his thoughts by the sound of carriages and the ringing of voices, laughter and music, which emanated from the inside of the house. He became aware of the fact that a large number of guests had already arrived and that the orchestra had began its performance, the crowds chattered and the music glided through the night air. Darcy took a deep breath, straightened his cravat and walked back into the household, as he stepped back in he did his best to ignore his throbbing heart.

The household seemed to glow more as the light was reflected on the pearl white dresses which the ladies wore. Darcy could also spot various red uniforms belonging to men of the militia, he felt his heart constrict a little and a slight knot formed at his throat. He looked around for Bingley, fortunately he was taller than most of the present guests which facilitated his task, however, as he turned towards the entry hall his breath caught in his throat.

Miss Elizabeth was standing there, in the middle of the hall and though she was surrounded by large groups of people; to Darcy she might as well stand on her own. All eloquent thoughts left Darcy; he was left with his quickening heart beat and the little breath that was left in his lungs. This woman would certainly be the death of him, how could she not? He saw look up at the clear chandelier, he saw her long, pale neck which shone ever so brightly like the rest of her, she twirled around slowly her gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

As Darcy remembered how to breathe he noticed that she moved away from the entrance hall and into one of the hallways. He cleared his throat and made to follow her though at what he considered to be a safe distance, he saw her walking slowly, almost tentatively and suddenly he lost his nerve and turned away from her once more.

--

Elizabeth thought that they would never make it to Netherfield Park. Lydia had decided to change her dress three times before settling for the very first she had put on, the same occurred with the ribbons. Jane stood quietly beside her and anyone would have thought her completely unfazed by the ball, Elizabeth, however, noticed the small blush that graced her cheeks and her ever so slight pulling at one of her gloves.

Once they finally got into the carriage Elizabeth allowed herself a smile which Jane noticed and mimicked. She could only wonder whether Mr. Wickham would be present, as she had decided to completely neglect Mr. Darcy's presence, she convinced herself that in the end the man's presence could not be relevant in any way, it was not as if he would ask her to dance. Elizabeth saw the brightly lit Netherfield Park drifting closer, the music caressing the air and the wind blowing ever so slightly through her pearly decorated curls.

As they descended from the carriage she noticed that there was a rather large number of guests which included many men from the militia, this in turn would not make her search for Mr. Wickham any easier. She simply smiled, the evening had just begun and thus she allowed herself to admire the exterior of Netherfield Park, as they walked in followed by a large number of people they approached Mr. and Miss Bingley who stood side by side, receiving all their guests.

Elizabeth noted that Mr. Bingley had a rather silly smile plastered on his face which only seemed to grow as soon as he saw Jane. He could barely take his eyes of her sister in order to greet the rest of her family. Elizabeth also noted the disdainful look which never seemed to leave Miss Bingley's face. While pleasantries were exchanged Elizabeth took the liberty of letting her gaze wander through the various rooms filled with red coated men, however none were the one she looked for.

"Miss Elizabeth?" said Mr. Bingley in his gentle voice, "were you looking for someone?"

"No, not at all" she smiled shyly, "Just admiring the general splendour,"

Elizabeth almost laughed when she saw the manner in which Mr. Bingley's eyes lit up at her sister's compliments of the decorations, he almost swooned. They moved on into the entrance hall, her mother and father continued their discourse about Mr. Bingley and his regard towards Jane, Elizabeth however, stood and looked around the glowing room completely in awe. For a moment she forgot that she desired to find Mr. Wickham for her attention was swept completely by the brightly lit room, the handsome decorations and the overwhelming air of elegance that filled it.

She glanced upwards and saw a magnificent chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the crystals reflected the light provided by the candles, and it was absolutely breathtaking. She came back to herself and locked her gaze on a dimly lit hallway, she took a deep breath and started walking slowly, thinking she might bump into Mr. Wickham at any given time. She entered one of the sitting rooms, looked around and moved on to another which had a piano forte in it, her gaze floated hopefully through the room only to be let down again.

She spotted Charlotte among a small group of people and took her hand in hers, asked for Mr. Wickham but Charlotte had not seen him either. They walked hand in hand through the halls until they met Jane, Elizabeth inquired once more for Mr. Wickham this time she could not keep the anxiety from her voice. Elizabeth's heart was beating quite quickly at this point, Jane held her hands tightly and she stated that Mr. Wickham was not there, Elizabeth could not keep her evident disappointment from her voice.

All of a sudden Mr. Collins was standing right beside them and nothing of what he said registered in Elizabeth's mind until there was a brief silence in which Elizabeth noticed that she had just been asked to dance by the petit man. In the midst of her disappointment she attempted to avoid the dance, however, she found herself obliged to accept and before she noticed she stood on the bright marble dance floor, Jane stood beside her. As the dance began, Jane attempted to explain the reasons as to Mr. Wickham's absence, Elizabeth focused her attention on her sister's words Mr. Collins, however, seemed determined to prevent her from listening as the man himself procured a speech of his own.

Nearing the end of the dance Mr. Collins made evident his intentions, leaving Elizabeth absolutely speechless and almost incapable of holding in her laughter. Even before the music was finally over she curtsied and grabbed Charlotte by the arm as she merely made it out of the dance room without laughing. She forgot momentarily about Mr. Wickham's absence and allowed herself to laugh at the small man's rather abrupt advances, she took no notice of where she was heading and thus found herself almost colliding into a man's chest.

Her laughter stopped abruptly as she looked into Mr. Darcy's clear eyes, he stood silent for a moment gazing at her intently, she shifted ever so slightly and noticed her thumping heart. Suddenly Mr. Darcy spoke in an incredibly soft voice.

"May I have the next dance, Miss Elizabeth?" Elizabeth was so stunned by his clear gaze and his soft voice that she could not stop herself as she heard her voice utter a short acceptance. He gave a curt nod and walked away from them, Elizabeth stood there somewhat transfixed at the events that had occurred in the last brief minutes, suddenly she grabbed Charlotte's arm and dragged her away as the realisation sunk in.

"Did I just agree to dance with Mr. Darcy?"

--

Darcy found himself short of breath yet again; in truth he hated the feeling. As he gazed at Miss Elizabeth he felt that his heart would rip out from his ribcage, he prayed that his voice would not quiver, that his hands would not shake and that his gaze would not give him away. As soon as he heard her reply he had to walk away and compose himself...he had to breathe, because it seemed that her very presence made him incapable of it.

He found himself staring at her at the other side of the dance floor as they waited for the music to begin, then they moved, swayed, glided over the dance floor. Darcy had lost all coherent thought at the moment when their bare hands touched; it brought back a myriad of memories and sensations within him which almost swept him off his feet. Miss Elizabeth was speaking, almost mocking him, he would have engaged appropriately in the conversation if he could have focused his thoughts properly.

After a few seconds he managed to regain control of himself and pursued the conversation she had instigated. He asked about her walks to Meryton but she had seen past it, she knew he referred to Wickham and he felt her cold gaze on him. He then noticed that she was angry, she was defending Wickham; almost speaking on his behalf...she was defending the scoundrel. He stopped abruptly and so did she, there they stood the music went on but they remained still, she attempted to make out his character, she was judging him based on what Wickham had told her.

He began to move once more, circling around her and to his shame he could not prevent the anger from seeping into his voice, they finished the rest of the dance in silence, gazing somewhat coldly at each other. As the dance came to an end Darcy still attempted to determine how it had resulted so badly, he bowed and then raised his eyes towards Miss Elizabeth and found her icy gaze still fixed on him. He could not stand it so he looked away as he congratulated the orchestra, as he turned back almost hesitantly he saw Miss Elizabeth curtsy hastily, raise her piercingly cold gaze towards him and walk away with a last long glare. He looked after her and then turned back and the vacant spot on the dance floor...oh, he hated himself.

After that dance the rest of the ball seemed to pass in a blur, he heard Mrs. Bennett speak of Bingley's tentative engagement to her daughter, he then danced with Miss Bingley which only produced a dull sensation in his gut and she uttered sly comments regarding some of her guests. Darcy just wanted to walk away from it all and thus as the orchestra finished the song he bowed hastily and left the room. As he walked through the heavily crowded house he could not bring himself to understand how the evening came to be completely ruined, he was disappointed but he was also angry...

That scoundrel had been feeding Miss Elizabeth lies and what was worse was that she most likely believed him, his nature provided for him to have that effect on women, he had seen it. He sighed heavily and shook his head miserably, he had hoped never to see the man again and then by fate's fickle hand there the man is again, there the man is again trying to take away from him that which he holds most dear.

It became evident to him that this effect Miss Elizabeth had on him could come to absolutely no good, she clouded his judgement, filled his every thought, made his heart ache like it had never ached in his life...it hurt him that she would rather believe that man than him. As he stood in a hallway with no candles he could only let out a shaky breath, he looked around and remembered the moments they had shared in this house, he remembered the complete state of bliss in which he had fallen just by touching her. He could almost feel her there beside him and he hated himself for remembering so vividly...it felt like he was digging a dagger into his very heart.

He leant back against one of the dark walls, he covered his face with one of his hands, his breathing filled the entire hallway and then after some eternal seconds of absolute silence in the midst of all the celebrating, his voice broke through:

"Oh God," he whispered, "just stop,"

--

Elizabeth found a manner of escaping of all the noise and the bustling around of the guests and the servants. From her former visit she had learnt quite well the locating of various rooms in the mansion, thus she slipped through a door which led to one of the balconies. She leant against the wall and let out a long sigh as the laughter faded away. The evening had not turned out as she had expected and for some inexplicable reason Mr. Darcy's piercing gaze had managed to fix itself once more onto her mind.

She shook her head and gazed out towards the moonlit gardens. If there was something she loved about this house it would have to be the vast library and the glorious gardens. She walked out to the terrace, breathing in the cold night air and stifling a shiver; she walked towards the stone rail and rested her slim arms on its cold surface, she rested her head on one of her hands as she closed her eyes and hummed softly the melody to which she had danced.

Mr. Darcy had to be the most puzzling man she had met in her life; she could not put together the pieces to form his character, when she met him she thought she had figured him out immediately just like he had her, but then...then there was that man she had seen in the study's secluded room, the man she had seen under the tree in the midst of a downpour, the man who held her hand lightly as he healed it...no matter how much she wanted to deny it, she had wanted to know who that man was.

Wickham's account of Mr. Darcy had brought Elizabeth back to reality, away from those two bizarre and completely inexplicable moments that had transpired in this mansion. Elizabeth had desired to bury those moments away and thus she hoped that with the presence of Mr. Wickham she could let the memory of Darcy's exceedingly expressive eyes drift away. She had expected to see the red coated man, to dance with him and in all probability spend the evening with him but fate had taken a strange turn and suddenly here she was, alone on a terrace and thinking about Darcy and his exceedingly puzzling character.

Suddenly an impossibly soft voice brought her back from her reverie.

"Miss Elizabeth..."

She turned and there were those eyes again.

--

As Darcy stepped into the balcony he noticed a female figure and almost laughed when he recognized it, almost. Miss Elizabeth had not sensed his presence and thus he took a few steps forward and spoke her name softly. She turned slowly and he saw how her eyes widened as they took him in. They stood there silently gazing at each other, a soft wind caressing their faces and the soft murmur of distant music filling the air. Darcy blinked and the contact was broken, he saw Elizabeth's gaze shift and her shoulders tensed yet again.

"I apologise for intruding with no warning," Darcy spoke slowly, weighing every word carefully, "I merely wondered whether you were quite alright,"

Elizabeth remained silent for a few seconds, wondering how to reply, searching for any trace of the anger she had felt as they had swayed on the marble floor, she looked back into Darcy's eyes and nodded her head lightly and she turned her back towards him and faced the gardens.

"I am fine, Mr. Darcy,"

Silence fell yet again, the wind blew once and Elizabeth stifled yet another shiver, this however did not go unnoticed by Darcy who took another step forward.

"Perhaps it would be better for you to go in," his gaze was fixed on his back and his voice still held some trace of the exhaustion which he had let out in the dark hallway, "It is rather cold out here,"

"I like the cold, Mr. Darcy," was all that Elizabeth replied not bothering to turn around. Darcy took a few more steps until he was standing right beside her; he too rested his hands on the stone surface and felt her own incredibly close to his own.

"Miss Elizabeth," he whispered after a few minutes of silence in which they both gazed towards the darkened garden, he shifted his hand ever so slightly, "I would very much like to apologise for my appalling behaviour during our dance,"

"I fail to understand, Mr. Darcy, why you are offering your apologies," Elizabeth said in a soft yet clearly cold tone. Darcy, however, did not pull back; on the contrary he boldly laid his hand on Elizabeth's icy one.

"I had no business displaying such manner towards you," he said as he felt her hand tense beneath his own, Elizabeth almost withdrew her hand but with a small touch Darcy stopped her and held it softly in his own, "Believe me when I say that my anger is most certainly not directed at you,"

Elizabeth still gazed forward, her hand barely twitched at Darcy's contact, she then looked down at their hands, more specifically at Darcy's hand as he held her own, and she could already feel it warming up once more. She looked up at Darcy abruptly though with a serious and determined expression.

"No, it is directed at Mr. Wickham," she replied still in a soft yet stern manner, "what I do not understand Mr. Darcy, is why," Darcy's gaze shifted immediately, his eyes darkened and his hand tightened its grip over Elizabeth's. He looked away from her eyes for a moment and after a few seconds of silence he sighed and raised his gaze once more.

At this point the contact of their hands brought swirling memories of the day in the study's hidden room, Darcy's light touch and Elizabeth's soft voice, their bodies tingled at the memory, their hearts beat faster in their chests and both of them were doing what they could to push the memories back, to push the feelings back. As Darcy gazed at Elizabeth's hand he remembered the day under the rain, the book and most importantly holding Elizabeth's hand in his own, feeling her closer to him than she had ever been.

"The reasons which lead me to such ill judgement of the...man, are of a very personal nature, Miss Elizabeth...and I am in a position which does not allow me to convey them,"

"I see," Elizabeth whispered icily, she began to draw her hand back but Darcy held even tighter, his finger caressed Elizabeth's white knuckles lightly as he raised his gaze to her own yet again. He then raised both of their hands closer to his chest as he turned to face Elizabeth, who shivered once more. He brought his other hand and thus held Elizabeth's lithe one between his own two sturdy and warm ones.

"The reasons I have are valid, please believe me...for I would never lie to you,"

As he said this he stepped closer to her and he saw her eyes widen. He then raised her hand with painful slowness towards his face and he closed his eyes as he ever so gently brushed her knuckles with his lips. Elizabeth's breath hitched and she felt Darcy's shaky breath on her hand as he sighed. They remained still as the world around them moved on, the memory of their kiss vivid in their minds, the brushing of lips and light caresses of hands. Darcy opened his eyes and they shone brightly in the night, filled with longing, Elizabeth felt herself drifting closer to him and he felt the compelling desire to kiss her again.

Darcy, however, feared that if he showed her any more affection she would only pull back and hurt him more. She had destroyed his self control, vanquished his composure and had transformed him into this man who wore his very heart on his sleeve. He closed his eyes once more and sighed, he took her hand gently, turned her palm towards him and placed a gentle almost nonexistent kiss there, the same palm he had tended to on a rainy day.

He heard the shaky breath she let out, he refused to meet her gaze for fear of not being able to control himself, he simply turned around and let her hand drop gently, he turned his head slightly so as to face her yet making no eye contact. He gestured his hand towards the balcony door and spoke in his usual tone.

"It is too cold out here, Miss Elizabeth," he cleared his throat lightly, "please return to the ball, your family are probably wondering at your prolonged absence,"

Elizabeth gazed at him in utter silence; she nodded her head in an extremely slow fashion and brushed past him as she made for the door. As she reached it she turned and saw him facing the garden again, thus she turned her back and crossed the door while delivering a swift:

"Goodnight, Mr. Darcy,"

Darcy remained standing in the balcony until the sun shone through the grounds; he could still hear various carriages drifting away from the state. He sighed as he looked around and with a determined look turned his back on the glowing grounds, re-entered the mansion and in a miraculous occurrence, went to look for Miss Bingley.

--

A few days later a letter addressed to Miss Jane Bennett arrived at Longbourn and Elizabeth read it aloud:

_"Mr Darcy is impatient to see his sister_

_and we are scarcely less eager._

_I do not think Georgiana Darcy_

_has her equal for beauty,_

_elegance and accomplishment._

_I hope to call her hereafter my sister."_

Elizabeth simply threw the letter on the bed and did her best to act like she did not mind and instead focused on her sister. While Darcy sat on a carriage trying to ignore the overwhelmingly haughty expression on Miss Bingley's face and the throbbing ache in his chest.


End file.
